A Labyrinth Cursed
by Nameless She
Summary: When a dark curse comes for Sarah, she finds herself transported back to the Labyrinth where new dangers await. JS Pairing.
1. The Fairy

A/N: I do not own anything, anyone, or anywhere associated with the Labyrinth. I am poor and am only writing this because I am clearly quite insane. Please don't sue...

A Labyrinth Cursed

Sarah was about to turn out the lights when the fairy fluttered past her window.

The tiny creature hovered, her tiny fists pounding on the glass, while Sarah stared, trying to decide whether or not she was dreaming. It would have made sense to assume it was a dream; she'd been working hard this last week. Too hard, Karen had insisted. And that much was also true; she'd been running on coffee, nerves, and three hours of sleep a night. Seeing that ethereal creature outside her window while she thought she was awake could easily be her body's way of telling her to slow down.

The fairy shimmered, pressing up against the glass, and suddenly passed through as though there had been nothing but air between her and the room. All at once, Sarah was staring her dead in the eye, the tiny fists waving frantically a mere centimeter from her face. A tiny, tiny voice squeaked something at her, and she gestured to the window.

"Slow down," Sarah said, straining to hear, "I can't understand you."

A litany of chirps and whistles followed, and if Sarah didn't know better, she'd swear the little beast gave her the finger. She glanced at the window, her tiny eyes suddenly round with fear, and darted past Sarah's head.

All at once, her breath came in cold; she could see it in white, smoky clouds as she exhaled. The familiar roar of the furnace assured her the heat was still on, but the shiver that raced up her spine made her wonder.

"Surely I'm dreaming, " she said.

Her voice sounded loud and harsh and felt wrong; she was definitely awake. The smooth and now chilled wood floor beneath her bare feet was too real, too solid. She could make out every line in the woodgrain, every imperfection, every indentation. She could sense each beat of fairy wing, each tiny breath it took.

She could even hear the blood pulsing in her head, drumming in her ears. No dream was that real. She pulled her robe a little tighter around her. She dug her fingers into the soft fabric hoping for some kind of comfort as she took a step towards her window. The fairy screamed, fluttering at her ear, and she felt tiny fairy fists pulling at her hair.

The glass window panes shattered. A fierce, cold wind rushed past her, knocking her back and spraying the room with wood splinters and glass shards. Her hands rose on instinct, to protect her face even as pain streaked across her forearms, her chest, and her legs. A tiny voice cried out and she felt the tiny fairy bury herself in her long brown hair.

A sound rasped all around them, harsh and low, but more a growl than a voice.

She didn't want to look; she didn't want to see what waited beyond the darkness of her eyelids, but she could feel it creeping closer with a rage so tangible she could almost touch. Slowly, she forced her eyes to open.

Nothing was there.

The breath she'd been holding came out in a rush, and she almost relaxed. The lights had blown; it was dark, but somehow, she knew she was not alone. She felt a tugging at her hair, and the fairy whimpered. Glass and wood lay scattered across the floor, and where the window had been was a jagged, gaping hole.

The growl rumbled beside her, sending her heart into her throat and the fairy diving into the front pocket of her robe. She turned, stumbling backwards as she scanned the room for whatever had made the noise. Still, there was nothing.

"Who's there?" she demanded, "What do you want?"

Somehow, she kept her voice steady and strong as she challenged the darkness. The fairy trembled in her pocket. There was a bubbling in her stomach, nausea, and a cold fear; she felt it tightening around her, stealing her resolve. The silence stretched on, more sinister than the darkness; at once, she was turning to run. Her knees wobbled; her hands shook, but she caught hold of the door knob, twisting to make her escape.

Shadows danced across the surface of the door. As she twisted the door knob, a bit of the darkness lurched up to catch hold of her wrist. It was cold and damp and very real, latching on to her skin and pulling itself closer, spreading like a virus. She screamed and pulled back, tearing at the shadow to free herself, but it was sticky like glue. As she clawed at it, it spread, climbing onto her nails and slinking up her arm. No matter how hard she pulled and twisted, the thing merely tightened its hold.

In her pocket, she felt the fairy fluttering; she heard it shrieking something unintelligible. But whatever battle the fairy fought, Sarah could do nothing help. The inky shadow seemed to still her mind and eat away at her fears; it was as if it was a paralyzing venom in her bloodstream, numbing her body until...

She swayed as a wave of dizziness washed over her. The room blurred, coming in and out of focus; and little dots of colored light swam before her eyes. A voice called to her, pleading to be let in, urging like a lover. She couldn't fight it; the darkness crept over her eyes, blotting out her sight. She felt herself falling.

Falling...


	2. Fairy Ring

The fairy swarm had formed a circle around the Labyrinth, their song rising on the wind like a ghostly lament. Their voices were as one, and they glowed with a primal magic long lost to Mortal and Fey alike. For that, Jareth was afraid.

He stood at his window, watching the display in the distance. The Crystal moon was full and low in the sky, and the air was still. The song had begun sometime before the sunset; and Hogwart had hurried to take advantage. With spray bottle in hand, he had descended upon the first of the fairy swarm. It hadn't moved at his approach nor did it move when Hogwart sprayed it with the vile fairy repellent.

A strange thing had happened afterwards; fairy light sparked and flamed and sent Hogwart sprawling backwards into the bushes. The song continued uninterrupted while Hogwart fled into the Labyrinth. And Jareth was left wondering.

Something was terribly wrong; he could feel it creeping at the corners of his kingdom, crawling like vile tentacles. There was dark power, ancient magic, and it was electric. The air was charged with it, calling to him, promising him his wildest fantasies. He felt it's strength, watched it form the shade of his greatest wish, and heard it's quiet voice singing seductively to him. It was everything; it was dark and light and power, ancient and eternal.

Evil.

It sent a chill through his body. So rare was a moment such as this, he let it wash over him. Few things made an eternal king know true fear. Jareth had felt it only once before when locked in battle with a mortal girl, barely more than a child. One that night, the fear had been for his heart, but on this night, so much more was at stake.

The dark magic stopped outside the fairy ring, and though it fought to find a foothold, it could not climb over the fairies' song. Rousing his courage, Jareth listened to the fairy words and joined their song, blending his power with theirs. For now, for as long as the fairy song continued, the Labyrinth and it's people were safe.

But Jareth could not drive the fear from his stomach. He could not turn his thoughts from _that night. _Her could still hear the girl's clear, strong voice echoing around him.

_'You have no power over me.' _

He steadied his voice.

'_Fear me, love me, do as I say and I will be your slave_.'

He heard his own voice pleading, begging like a commoner. A great king did not beg, and yet, he had. With all his heart, he had begged for her love. So like a fool! A strange feeling clawed at his mind, plucking memories from the darkest parts and twisting them, distorting them. The memory of the dance filled with shadows and dark laughter. He could see the girl throw her head back and laugh, darkness and scorn in her gaze as she looked down on him. And then she'd turned his world upside down.

'_As the pain sweeps through, makes no sense for you.._.'

His voice wavered. It had never happened; she had danced with him, her eyes innocent and pure. She had been afraid in the end, but there had been no dark laughter. He tried again, forcing as much magic as he dared into his voice, striking out at the thing clawing at the Labyrinth's border. He felt the fairies' magic follow suite and heard the darkness recoil in rage.

The fairies' song rose, the words changing to one, long wail forcing back the darkness. It fought but slowly, after what felt like forever, it retreated, fading into the night. The song continued until the darkness was completely gone, and then it changed to a sad lament. Though what exactly it was they mourned, Jareth couldn't begin to guess. They had won, and for now, the Labyrinth was safe.

Fairies were wild creatures; they knew nothing of love or hate. They had no conscience, but followed their own desires in and out of trouble. Even the death of their own mother would bring no tears. That they would band together for a common cause was enough of a surprise, but to show sadness? He was puzzled, and something twisted deep in his gut. What could possibly make a fairy weep?

Just beyond the borders of the Labyrinth, he felt it stir and cross under the veil, slipping into death's embrace. The line of fairies slowly began to move to one spot near the entrance to the Labyrinth. They formed a new circle, a small circle, around a still form; though, it was too large to be a fairy. The lament became a death knell as the fairies mourned.

The Fairy Queen was dead.


	3. Awaken

A million tiny voices were singing in her ear. At first, she thought she was dreaming; although, what a strange dream it was. Her muscles ached, and her mouth tasted like ash. Rather than her warm bed and fluffy pillows, she felt hard packed earth and stones beneath her.

The singing grew louder as she shifted, searching for a more comfortable position. The voices seemed to cry and moan in undeniable sadness, wailing with unfamiliar words. She opened one eye; her breath caught in her throat.

A million tiny fairies surrounded her, singing as though the world had ended. Behind them, the sky was a fiery orange above a high stone wall and the entrance to the Labyrinth. Gasping, she tried to stand, to scramble back and away from the sight that could not be, but her body screamed a protest. Her muscles locked and she couldn't move, could barely breathe.

The body lay at the center of the fairy circle, nearly obscured by the tiny wings. For once, no one noticed his approach; not a wing fluttered nor fairy head bowed to acknowledge him. So entranced were they by their song and their visitor.

It was a woman; that much he could tell by the curve of her body and the sweep of her long, brown hair. One eye was open, surveying the sky. It was green with little flecks of gold. He'd seen none save one with eyes that shade; and as the woman struggled to move, his heart flopped into his belly.

"Sarah," he said.

His voice spoke her name. Over the fairies' song, she heard him start, gasp, and even **almost** stutter. The great and terrible Goblin King, the stuff of her wildest nightmares, her most terrifying dreams. She heard him speak and watched his kingly visage appear before her.

His eyes stared down at her, shock reflected clearly in the blue depths. He stood above the fairies, his hands trembling, and slowly, he knelt.

"What happened?"

She stared at him dumbly. She'd been in her room, reaching for the light switch a moment before; how had she gotten here? Was it all just a strange dream? Had the long hours at work finally taken their toll? A gloved hand smoothed the hair back from her face. No, this was real; she was awake.

"Sarah," he said, "Answer me, please. Are you alright?"

She tried to speak, to assure him, to accuse him, to say anything at all, but no sound came. It was so very cold.

She stared at him, her eyes oddly blank as he smoothed the hair back from her face. It seemed for a moment, she tried to speak, tried and failed. Something was wrong. Why was she here? And why now after so many years? Whatever the reason, he was certain the dark spell was responsible. There was no other rational explanation.

Beside her, half in and half out of her pocket, lay the Fairy Queen. Her magic was completely drained, and her tiny eyes were black. He could still feel a bit of the dark magic writhing within her, dying for whatever reason. It hungered for something, starved for it.

Jareth felt it reach for Sarah in a last attempt; but it was too weak. It faded even as it stretched out a long tendril of evil. Sarah stared at him, something stirring in her eyes. Recognition? He dared to hope. Gently, he slipped one arm beneath her shoulders and the other under her knees. In a careful sweep, he lifted her, trying hard not to think about just how light she felt.

She felt him lift her off the ground; her head swam with dizziness. Her limbs wouldn't move; her voice wouldn't speak. No part of her body would respond to her mind's commands. No matter how hard she wished, her body remained a cold lump in the Goblin King's arms.

There would be time to worry later; she needed a healer now! He took a deep breath and steadied himself before blinking them both to the castle. He'd used so much power already; he was beginning to tire. Sweat gathered along his brow, but he carried her to his own bed. Gently, he settled her on the pillows.

"You're safe here," he said.

With his mind, he bellowed, '_Demetros! I need you_!'

He could sense the old healer grumbling, stumbling out of bed. After too many precious seconds had passed, the healer Demetros finally appeared. A whithered hand touched the girl's face and two ancient eyes stared into hers. Jareth watched impatiently, pacing back and forth across the room, but Demetros didn't offer a word of comfort.

Finally...


	4. Curse

At last, the healer took his hand from the young woman's forehead, turning to Jareth with the prognosis. His expression was grave, but that was no surprise. No matter the ailment, no matter the patient, he always wore the same, harried expression. Jareth had always wondered if it was for his own amusement, to frighten and alarm, or perhaps even to reassure the patient that he took the illness seriously.

"She's cursed," he said gruffly, "Let her sleep it off."

Jareth stared at him, anger growing in his belly.

"You jest," he said "You can not just sleep a curse away."

The old healer shrugged, looking disturbingly unconcerned.

"Well, how should I know?" he snapped, "Ask me about the Chicken Pox. Ask me to mend a broken leg. You could even ask me about the cure for the common cold; I'm a healer, and it's my job. But curses? It's really not my field of expertise."

Jareth could taste hot bile rising in the back of his throat.

"Now, Gerty," Demetros continued, "She'd be the one to ask."

Gerty was the labyrinth's equivalent of a human priest or holy woman; some might even go so far as to compare her to a witch. She could cast a few low level spells, lift nearly any curse with but a prayer, and her herbal knowledge was unmatched by any Fey wizard. For a creature of the Labyrinth, this was no small accomplishment.

"Very well," Jareth said, "You're dismissed."

Demetros gave him a long, indecipherable look before he finally faded away, but Jareth barely noticed. He turned to the task of finding Gerty, a crystal summoned to bring her to him.

The world was gray stone and shadows; Sarah could see nothing else, and though she knew she lay on pillows and blankets, she felt nothing. There was only a heavy chill filling her, weighing her down, and stealing her limbs.

For a long stretch, there'd been a wrinkled hand on her forehead and the wrinkled face of an old man hovering above her. She had felt something poking around at her mind, and then, the old man was gone. And the whispers began.

Like the shadows dancing across the stones, they flitted through her mind, spilling darkness and half truths.

'_I'm worthless,_' one insisted.

'_Mother never loved me_,' countered another.

'_Daddy will be glad if I die_,' yet another replied.

'_I should die_,' the first one chimed in.

_Die, die, die_ echoed in her head. Her vision blurred with tears. Images flooded her mind; Karen and Daddy clearing out her room, laughing as they worked. Toby crying, squirming to get away from her. Her mother's dark eyes glaring disapprovingly. She could see them at her own funeral, laughing and happy.

The dark shadows seemed to grow, spilling more images into her mind, more lies. Two memories of the same day warred for dominance, high school graduation. In one, she accepts her diploma, her father, Karen, and Toby clapping in the audience, beaming with pride. In the other, their chairs were empty, the crowd silent as she stood waiting for a diploma that wasn't there.

'_They never loved me_,' the shadows insisted, but she felt uncertain.

'_That's not true_,' she couldn't help but think, '_They always loved me_!'

The shadows seemed to pull closer.

'_T'isn't_!' they insisted, '_They hate us_.'

"Well can you?" Jareth asked.

Gerty the worm eyed the still form of the girl and nodded.

"T'is simple enough," she said, "But there could be side effects. Lasting side effects."

She inched closer to the girl and began her chant. Jareth wondered what she meant by side effects, but he dared not interrupt. He tried to resign himself to the task of waiting and watching the girl who had once held his heart. _Still_, his mind corrected.

He could almost see the curse, dancing behind her eyes, around her, under her skin. As Gerty chanted, it danced faster, its anger growing. _So much rage! So much evil!_

She saw more of her memories perverted and changed. Her parents' divorce, her father's wedding to Karen, and even Toby laying in his bassinet in the hospital. In each memory she was shoved aside, forgotten and alone, but in reality, Karen had tried to embrace her as a daughter, include her.

'_Things are not always what they seem_,' the voice came from out of nowhere.

The shadows writhed in anger, but seemed to shrink.

'_You're alone here!'_ they cried, '_No one wants you!_'

'_Come inside and meet the missus_,' the voice continued.

A worm's smiling face appeared in her line of sight, not unlike the one from her memory. Rather than blue hair sticking out at odd angles on it's head, it's hair was long and black. It chanted something quietly, and all at once, the shadows screamed, melting away into nothing. They tore at her mind, clawing, biting, tearing in one last attempt, making her wince with the pain.

Dimly, she realized, she could feel again. Her fingers were curling against soft blankets, and she was turning onto her side. The worm tumbled, curling as she fell. A gloved hand caught her; the worm slowly uncurled and called out a 'thank you'. Sarah looked up sharply, and two blue eyes stared down at her, one pupil larger than the other.

"Well now, that's done," the worm said, still smiling, "Try to avoid black magic and other dark arts for the next week or so. Have a nice cup of tea with breakfast."

The Goblin King watched, his face expressionless.

"Very well," he said, "You may go with my thanks. Your pains will be rewarded."

He set the worm gently on the window sill, and as the strange little creature inched its way along the stone, he turned to face her.

"Now, Sarah," he said, "Tell me exactly what you were doing in my Labyrinth."

She blinked at him twice before answering, and even then when she did, it was hardly an answer. Her voice wavered.

"The fairies," she said, "I didn't know they did nice things."

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stave the slow swelling of pain in his head. There was more than a small chance she'd gone a little mad. He could accept that with the grace and dignity of a monarch, but rambling on about fairies when evil was still afoot was almost too much to bear.

"Yes, yes, fairies are strange little creatures," he agreed, "But what happened? And why was their repulsive little queen dead in your pocket?"

Her brow wrinkled as she considered this.

"She may very well have saved my life," she said softly, "I'd appreciate it if you didn't insult her."

The reprimand surprised him, but he tried not to let it show. Instead, he scoffed.

"Fairies are little better than vermin," he said, "They carry disease, destroy my gardens, and care only for themselves. If it did try to save your life, as you claim, I assure you, it was not because it cared for your safety. More likely than not, the little queen misguidedly believed you would protect it."

"She was their Queen?" she asked, "But why was she at my window?"

A war of emotions played out across her face; sadness, confusion, alarm, and finally shock.

"She came to warn me," she said at last, "But it was already too late. That thing attacked us; it broke my window."

"What exactly did this thing look like?" he asked, "Tell me everything you can remember!"

She nodded and seemed to search her thoughts.

"It didn't look like anything, at first," she said slowly, "It growled at me. I couldn't see it, but I heard it. And when I tried to run..."

She broke off, eyes wide with fear.

"What happened?" he asked.

"The shadows," she said, "They grabbed me. It was just a shadow, but it was real. It was solid. I couldn't move."

Her breath came in short gasps.

"What do you mean?" he caught hold of her arm, hoping to pull her out of her panic.

"How can a shadow grab someone?" she asked, "I could feel it in my mind, telling me horrible things. Lies."

Her eyes filled with tears, and Jareth cursed himself for pushing her too hard. Mortals were such fragile, unpredictable creatures. As he had feared, she'd given him few answers and more questions. _What was the fairy queen doing in the Aboveground? Why had the curse come for Sarah? And why had the fickle little queen tried to help her? And bloody hell, where had the curse come from and why? What was it's purpose?_

"You're safe now," he said.

She was weeping now, but he felt helpless. Comforting a mortal woman was not a thing he'd ever had to do, and even comforting a Fae woman was near impossible for him. He searched his memory for the name of that sniveling dwarf she had befriended. _Hogwart? Higgle?_ _It didn't matter,_ he decided. The little scab would no doubt have more success at comforting her. The thought annoyed him greatly, but he would summon him nonetheless.

Sometimes, a king had to put his own feelings aside.

Quickly, before he could change his mind, he made his excuses and left her sobbing on his pillows.


	5. Guest

Not long after the Goblin King left, there was a soft knock on the door. She started at the sound, unsure if she should answer. Slowly, the door creaked open, a wrinkled face peaking around the corner.

"Hoggle!"

She was off the bed, across the room, and scooping him into a hug before she even realized it. He struggled a bit, trying to free himself from her grasp. His cheeks flushed red.

"I missed you!" she said, but forced herself to let go.

He shuffled nervously, eying each corner of the room as though a certain someone was lurking, ready to step out and tumble them both head first into the bog.

"He said you were here," Hoggle said, "But I thought it was just another trick."

He looked her in the eye almost suspiciously.

"What are you doing here anyway?" he asked.

Her heart plummeted, and she felt the tears welling in her eyes.

"I don't know. Aren't you happy to see me?" she asked.

"Course I am," he said quickly, "I just wondered. The fairies start acting up, and then that thing attacks, and now here you are. What are you doing in his chamber anyway?"

His eyes darkened at the last question; her cheeks flushed as she caught his meaning.

"It isn't like that," she said quickly, "Hoggle, something attacked me. I woke up here."

He paled.

"You're alright though?" he asked, "It didn't hurt you?"

"I'm alright now," she said.

He sighed, looking relieved as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

She smiled. It was good to see him after so many years; _almost ten_, she realized. _Had it really been so long?_ No wonder he seemed distant, overly suspicious. She would have felt the same had he showed up on her front lawn with a dead fairy in his pocket. Still, something he had said bothered her more than anything else. Some thing had attacked here as well._ Could it be the same thing that attacked her and killed the little queen? _It sounded reasonable, she decided.

"You said you were attacked?" she asked.

"Not me specifically," he said.

"The Labyrinth," she amended.

"Magic," he spat, "Some kind of curse. Whatever it was made those pests start singing."

He was about to add something, when small head peaked into the room.

"Your room is ready," the goblin woman announced.

A tiny hand gestured for her to follow.

"My room?" Sarah asked, dumbly.

The goblin nodded.

"This way," she insisted.

Sarah looked at Hoggle, and he shrugged.

"Might as well see it," he said as he shuffled towards the goblin, "But he's up to something."

Sarah followed, though the walk was a short one. The goblin took them across the hall, stopping at the door facing Jareth's room. She tried not to think too much about that, but it was torture, pausing in the door, casting a glance over her shoulder, her gaze locking on his king sized bed.

"Are you sure this is the right room?" she asked, her voice catching in her throat.

Hoggle gave her a strange look.

"This is it alright," the goblin said.

The room was ordinary, lacking all the frills and excess one would expect from royalty, yet lacking none of the necessities. One serviceable bed, a few blankets and pillows, a chair by the window, and a battered looking wardrobe were the few meager furnishings. An ancient wooden door was cracked open, connecting the room to what she guessed was some sort of washroom; the corner of a white porcelain basin peeked from around the corner.

"I don't like it one bit," Hoggle said.

He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at their goblin guide.

"Why is that?" Sarah asked, "It looks fine to me."

He harrumphed a bit before answering, the jewel pouch jingling against his hip as he moved.

"The way it's all made up and fancy," he sputtered, "As if he has something else in mind."

"What are you talking about?" she asked, confused.

He uncrossed his arms in a flurry, one foot stomping in frustration.

"You don't just put someone up in a room this fancy unless you want something from them," he said, "You'd best keep the door locked, Missy. Not that it'd do any good."

Fancy? She held back a chuckle. The room was barely a room, and he thought...? At once her mirth was gone, replaced by a strange sense of pity. She'd never asked him about his home or what his life was like; for him to think that this was luxury, it was be a minimalist existence. A true friend would know what their life was like. They'd know what sort of home they had.

"I'm sorry, Hoggle," she said.

"For what?"

It was his turn to look confused.

"For not staying in touch," she said, "For not being here."

She wanted to wipe away the last decade and start a new, to pick up where they'd left off, but that time had stolen too much away. They both had changed, maybe too much to continue on as friends and maybe not.

"Don't worry about it," he said, "We're friends."

But she did, she would. Trying to shake the melancholy, she turned to inspect the wardrobe. No doubt generations of moths and other creepy crawlies would have made it their home, she thought. But as she flung open the doors, bracing herself for the flourish of moths and spiders making their escape, there was nothing. Or rather, there were no bugs of any kind whatsoever. What was inside, however, made her wonder if maybe Hoggle hadn't been completely out of his mind.

Inside the wardrobe hung dozens upon dozens of the most beautiful dresses she had ever seen, most entirely appropriate for mixed company. The few that weren't fit for anyone's sight but her own barely covered anything at all and left absolutely nothing to the imagination. She slammed the doors shut and pressed her back against the wardrobe.

"I told you so," Hoggle said.


	6. Jareth's Study

Jareth slumped in his chair, his body strained and tired, his magic reserves all but drained, and his traitorous eyelids drifting shut when he wasn't paying attention. His search had revealed nothing new of the curse, but proved without the shadow of a doubt something he had suspected over the last few centuries; his library was sorely lacking.

Out of the thousands upon thousands of mystical tomes, legends, and ancient scrolls, the most recent was a picture book of Aboveground fashion, dated 1985. The most useful book he'd found had been written some 300 odd years before, focusing solely on the fortification of one's home against goblins. He drummed his fingers on his desktop as he made a mental note to delve into that tome later.

"Your majesty, a word?"

The head of staff, a wizened human woman, stood in the doorway, eying him curiously.

"What is it?" he asked.

She bowed her head, "Your guest has been shown to her room, but the dwarf is with her."

He waved one hand impatiently, "Yes, yes, I know. I sent for him."

"Oh," she looked up, surprise written across her face.

"Is there anything else?" he asked, "Time is short."

"The cook has made special preparations for dinner," she added, "Will the dwarf be joining you as well?"

"Higgle?" he asked, "Of course not, don't be ridiculous."

She bowed, "Yes, your majesty."

"You may go now," he said, "And see to it I'm not disturbed."

"Yes, your majesty," she said.

She left, shutting the door behind her. Once again, he was alone with his failures. Books and scrolls lay scattered around his desk and on the floor. What else could he do when there were no clues? Should the creator of the curse attack again, there was no guarantee the fairies would fight him. There was no way of knowing if they even could; the little queen was dead. Still, fairy magic was not so different from faerie magic; they were born of the same gods, blessed by the same divine hand. There must be some way to tap into their kindred powers. If willful, garden pests could hold back the darkness, why not a king of noble blood and high magic?

Goddess, he was tired.

How would he make it through dinner with _her_? There were so many things left unresolved; she'd all but destroyed his world, turned it upside down, and thrown it back in his face. And she'd done it with a sweet innocence few ever possessed. Did she even know what she had done? After so long, his heart still raced at the sight of her.

_She didn't want you then, and she won't want you now_.

The thought shook him from his reverie. No doubt it was true, he thought. He could almost hear her say the words herself, rejecting him for the second time, laughing.

_You offered her your world and she threw it in your face. She'll never love you. She'll never want you._

His gut twisted painfully. He could almost see her cruel eyes sparkle at his pain. She cared more for the dwarf and that raggle-taggle band of misfits she'd befriended on her first visit to the Labyrinth. Turning back to one of the open books on his desk, he steeled himself for more research. The sooner he found the answers, the sooner she'd be on her way.


	7. The Vision

"It's hopeless!"

With a shriek, Gwyn hurled the crystal goblet into the fire. His companion, Cerridwen, a crone in dark blue robessent him a dark look before turning her attention back to the cauldron. It seemed she stirred forever while he seethed; every so often she'd cast a handful of ground sage, nightshade, or henbane into the murky liquid. The contents of the cauldron bubbled, and finally, she dipped a ladle below the surface, scooping up a generous portion.

She blew on it to cool it.

"So easily discouraged," she said, "Have a taste; perhaps, it will change your outlook."

He sniffed disdainfully.

"Not likely," he said, "You forget, I saw what went into the pot."

A ghost of a smile graced her lips.

"Very well," she said, raising the ladle to her own lips, "But should you change your mind---"

"I never change my mind," he said.

She drank deeply, her eyes clouding over a misty white. The ladle clattered to the floor and she sank to her knees to wait for the vision. When it came, she was unprepared. Image after image cavorted wildly, flashing, twisting, darting in and out of her awareness. Barely did the sight register before it was gone, replaced by another.

"What do you see?" Gwyn asked.

As the last of the images faded, she sighed, looking up at him with clear, gray eyes.

"A mortal woman," she said, "And death."

**_At the Castle_**...

Sarah pulled her robe tightly around her as she stared into the wardrobe, pondering whether or not to change out of her grubby night clothes and into one of the outfits that wasn't really hers. Hoggle had left moments before when a horrible woman appeared to announce dinner.

_'There's not enough for the likes of him,_' she had said rudely.

And although, Sarah had been ready with a retort of her own, Hoggle had bowed his head and hurried out the door. His shoulders had hunched forward with a resignation she resented. The Goblin King was a specially breed of mean, she decided, wondering why her own presence was tolerated. And why hadn't he sent her home yet? The woman had smirked at Hoggle's retreating form before turning a disapproving glare on Sarah's bedraggled attire.

'_Hardly appropriate for dinner_,' she had muttered, '_Some one will be by for you within the hour, at least wash your face_.'

And then she was gone, leaving Sarah alone and feeling all of 3 inches tall.

Now, her face scrubbed and clean, she half heartedly sorted through the clothing in the wardrobe. All of the dresses were beautiful, and most were wholly impossible to get into without someone else's assistance. There were no pants, but a few skirts looked promising.

She decided on a green peasant skirt and cream colored tunic. No sooner had she slipped the tunic over her head, adjusting it until it rested properly, when a tiny goblin pushed open the door.

"Dinner's ready," she announced, "Follow me!"

Before Sarah could so much as blink, the goblin ducked around the door.

"Hey, wait!" she called after the goblin.

She ran after her, her bare feet padding uncomfortably against the cold stone floor. The goblin glanced over her shoulder as she ran, ducking around a corner and darting down the hallway. Sarah took a deep breath as she ran, struggling to keep up. She never would have guessed that something so small could move so quickly!

The goblin eventually stopped in front of a grand archway.

Just beyond the archway was a room with a high ceiling and a long table. The Goblin King sat at the head of the table, glowering. She stood behind the goblin, unwilling to meet the king's fearsome gaze, her heart thundering in her chest.

The little goblin smiled up at her, revealing a row of sharp yellow teeth. Despite herself, she smiled back, her heart warming.

"So glad you decided to join us."

A dry voice interrupted her thoughts. Looking up at the grumpy monarch, she felt the smile slide off her face. His eyes were dark, his smile bitter, and his face a sour mask of indifference. He stood, gesturing to one of the many, empty chairs.

"Sit," he said.

Dimly, she realized she was moving, her legs obeying without waiting for her command. And as she sat, he sat.

A long silence stretched out between them.


End file.
